In every publicity shot of Vera Wang, she appears somber, bordering on morose. There is the neutral, minimal makeup, the unglossed lips, the unsmiling face, the long, straight hair parted down the middle. Invariably, she's wearing black.

So, there is a great disconnect when she walks out of the bathroom in her San Francisco hotel room during a recent visit, looking and acting like a giggly teenager.

She talks a mile a second. She squirms on the overstuffed chair in her W Hotel suite, first curling her legs under her, then sitting cross-legged, then with one knee up. She starts off by saying that the bathtub got backed up and that maybe we don't want to know all the yucky details about that.

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"Maybe I have to readdress those publicity pictures," the designer says later over the telephone. "That is so not me. I am really very approachable."

An enviously youthful 53, Wang looks as if she's heading off to yoga class, in a white cotton Gap T-shirt and Danskin leggings -- being the creative type, she's added a chunky vintage crystal necklace. A few hours later, she is still in this outfit when she appears at Macy's to promote her fragrance and sign copies of "Vera Wang on Weddings," her how-not-to-lose-your-mind coffee-table bridal book.

Wang laughs easily, and it seems, after 15 minutes of conversation, that she would tell you anything if she had more time, which is becoming increasingly difficult to find these days.

Talk about multitasking. One minute she's in a handbag meeting -- "We were discussing buckles and closures" -- next, she's helping a bride with a fitting,

then speaking at a benefit luncheon, then into another meeting about flatware patterns, or jewelry, or she's gearing up for her ready-to-wear shows in New York. There are the dishes, the stemware, the eyewear, the perfume, the candle,

the body cream, the shoes.

She cringes at the word "empire," but it's hard to come up with another one,

given all the pots Wang is stirring at the moment.

Most famous is her bridal business, which went from nothing to the top almost immediately after it began in 1990. For many women, Wang's name is synonymous with the elegant, ethereal bride who floats down the aisle in a deceptively simple bias-cut dress made of six layers of satin. "That's complicated to make!" Wang says, laughing.

The designer, who married for the first time at 40, was her own core customer: a well-to-do Boomer, marrying later in life, who couldn't see herself in a poufy dress. Wang can rightly be credited for starting the whole "anti-bride" movement.

Many people think Vera Wang came out of nowhere to start the bridal business, but she had been knocking around for 20 years before that. A former Olympic-bound figure skater (she nearly made the U.S. team), Wang left skating in the late '60s; it caused a nervous breakdown. She picked herself up and began a stint at Vogue, where she rose to senior editor. After that, she was design director for Ralph Lauren.

She and her husband have two daughters, 12 and 9. On Saturday and Sunday mornings, you will find Wang and the girls at the Chelsea Piers ice rink in lower Manhattan. After that, they go shopping or to lunch, and then it's back to the office for Mom.

It's a wonder she has time to glide around the rink even once. Aside from the bridal business, Wang puts out four ready-to-wear collections a year, which she presents during fashion week in New York in February and September.

Her current spring collection, mostly evening wear in black and white, with lingerie detailing and minimal embellishment, was inspired by Vionnet's 1920s bias-cut gowns, she says. For fall, Wang again works with neutrals with touches of lavender. "I'm experimenting with tailoring; that's new for me," says the designer. Looks include fitted dresses, coats and jackets, like a slim black coat with three-quarter sleeves, a black cashmere shell with a dusting of beads, popcorn-knit shrugs, hand-ribbed chiffons and intricate but delicate origami ribbon details.

"I was inspired by a recent trip to Beijing," Wang says. "Many people think of the colors of China as red and gold. But I took the palette from the topography -- the gray Great Wall, the magnificent sunsets where the sky turned lavender and purple, and from the snow in the Forbidden City."

Last year, Wang released her fragrance, a predominantly white-flower scent of calla lilies, gardenia, white stephanotis and white wood. It, too, is a hit.

Wang does china and crystal in collaboration with Wedgwood. Why settle? "I wanted to do stemware and dishes that were high quality but not so ridiculously expensive that if you break a salad plate, you can't afford to replace it." (For the record, a Vera Wang salad plate, in the "Imperial Scroll" pattern, is $30).

Next up, the aforementioned jewelry and handbag lines. Why stop now? Wang is planning a bed and bath line.

She is probably in some serious denial about the whole empire thing, but she does admit she's ready to take it on. "I don't like to brag -- that's always the moment when things turn on your karmically," she says, "but every company has its time. Now seems to be the time for us."